


Honey, your Aspies' Showing

by AuthenticAussie



Series: and we can watch the stars on the water [1]
Category: One Piece
Genre: 100-1000 Words, Asexual!Luffy if you squint, Asperger's Syndrome, Gen, Mental Health Issues, Other, mentions of Sabo and Ace if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-24
Updated: 2014-05-24
Packaged: 2018-01-26 08:42:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 3,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1682081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuthenticAussie/pseuds/AuthenticAussie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Luffy has something wrong with him; he just doesn’t know what it is. Words are dropped around him like he can’t hear what they’re saying, and it’s almost like he doesn’t, because even when the terms to describe it all stick in his head, he can never seem to find out anything else.</p><p>(AKA, that one modern AU where Luffy has Asperger’s syndrome and hints of minor ADHD.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Speaking and Touches and Butterfly Thin Skin

As he grows up, Luffy tries to learn not to be different.

This is not as easy as it seems.

The words in his head are honey, slow and sedate when he doesn’t want them to be, and rocket ship fuel mixed with spurts of molasses whenever it doesn’t matter. He says things that never come out the way he wants them to; words dancing on the tip of his tongue, doing the conga, the ballroom waltz, tapping away at the sides of his brain as he tries to let them out. It’s like they hover just on the edges of his teeth, propping themselves up on beanbags and refusing to get out when he wants them to.

His skin is made of butterflies, their wings needle sharp, and they poke and prickle and punch him when he doesn’t pay attention. When he thinks too much but not enough and his mind drifts off and someone _touches_ him.

He tries; he really, truly, absolutely _tries_ but when he’s learning not to be different his body teaches his mind to turn off and-

_Touch_ , and his skin is wrong on his bones, like it turned to fire ants instead of flesh.

_Touch,_ and his thoughts are a broken train line, spiralling off the tracks and he wants to scratch the spot off with his fingernails, pull it all off in one clean strip so that it _stops._

_Touch,_ and he can’t help but feel the scream of _wrong!_ that echoes in his mind and pulls him from their sides and makes him want to slap their hands away.


	2. Words and Pens and Wrongness in your Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When nothing really works the way it's supposed to, how do you write what you want to say?

Pencils are a challenge, but pens are worse.

Getting his hands to curve and curl, getting his fingers to glide and hold and pull the lead in the right direction, instead of hopping on the page like it has bunny legs and a giraffe’s balance on ice. Everyone else around him gets better and better and better, and he’s stuck trying to copy letters onto the page and make them actually look like _letters_.

Cursive is Mountain Everest – the Kokoda trail; an upward march towards the Artic that never seems to get anywhere, just blank snow and ink where there should be elegance in written form.

He asks them not to use it; pretends when he gets looks that it’s just because he’s a bit slow not-

Not- _this_.

This is something he doesn’t understand in its entirety. _This_ is the words that are mentioned when he’s not meant to hear, but never more than that _(it’s never been more than that, no matter how many faces and places and lands in the sands he makes in the office of his newest psychiatrist.)_

Never enough to tell him what’s wrong, only enough to tell him that something is wrong. Something is wrong with _him_ , and no-one else seems to trip and falter and fall as their minds tell them that they are doing something the right way.

It’s never the right way, he learns, and even doing it the opposite way doesn’t make it work properly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've written all of these already, so never fear about my finishing.


	3. Friends and How Not to Make Them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> pop, pop, pop, butterfly fly away.

Friends are bubbles, Luffy finds.

They float away if you don’t watch them and follow them, and they pop and are gone if you try and hold them.

Luffy tampers down on every urge he has to cling and follow and he lets them float away when they don’t want him anymore, because he’s learnt that everything his mind tells him to do isn’t to be believed, and holding on is the wrong way to make them stay.

They all pop anyway.

_Pop, pop, pop,_ and every time they do there’s bubble liquid in his eyes and it makes them sting and burn and but he knows that if he’s closer– if _they’re_ closer – and he tries to hold them down, it’ll hurt all the more.

_Pop,_ and the one he held close pushes him away and leaves him nonetheless.

_Pop,_ and the one he let go leaves him forever.


	4. Maths and the Numbers that Obey the Opposite Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clocks are something he does not care for.

When Luffy first meets clocks, he is neutral of their existence.

They tick, and click, and turn around, and if he wanted to he could watch them and no-one would think it any different of them.

So there is a point in their favour.

However, others do not share his fascination, uncertain of what he waits for, and rush away when the clocks strike one or two, or three or four, Cinderellas in suits and jeans instead of ball gowns.

So there is a point against.

However, then he realises- that time was a concept that existed with a clock.

Sleeping Beauty obeyed the laws, sleeping for a hundred years, and Cinderella left the ball once she realised it was twelve ‘o’clock.

But how did they know?

Clocks. So clocks are cool-

Until he realises that to understand them, you have to think. And now, he doesn’t mind thinking – really, he doesn’t – but for some reason, it doesn’t _click_.

Maybe he’s just not getting it explained the right way. Maybe it’s just the clock itself, a bright yellow and red thing that you move the hands around on and try and guess the time;

But maybe the problem is in the fact that he’s guessing. No matter what he tries to say, he gets the hands mixed up. Is it big that tells the hours, or is it little? What does it mean when they’re both at opposite sides? And with the questions that buzz around in his head distracting him, he learns how to ignore clocks. The questions fade, and they start on fractions instead.

And percentages.

And shapes and addition and division and multiplication-

And each one takes him hours. Hours and hours of silence in the room when he’s trying to figure out why he can’t do anything right. Hours and hours that tick by on the clock face he can’t read as he tries to memorise numbers that float away as soon as he goes to sleep.

He decides that he doesn’t like clocks.


	5. Turning Pages and Not Breathing (Silence in the Test, Please.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Parts of a mind that will not answer when you need them to.

His first test really screws him over.

And he doesn’t mean that in a nice way either. He’s not really sure there _can_ be a nice way to screw someone over so horribly, but if there was, he’d times it by five to get how much trouble this test got him into.

Where his forearm rests against the desk feels too warm, so he moves it to be cold and moves it again and can’t get comfortable-

And scratches at his face with his pen, itches restlessly at the ants that crawl on his skin, and he can’t help but fidget, scratching at his skin, staring at the sky, doodling on the side of his page, writing down answers when he knows them. Watching other people, with their heads bent low like dead flowers to their exams.

He gets in trouble for that, but he really did try his hardest! He really did try to get the answers written down, but the bell rang too early and he filled out most of the questions, anyway.

His attempts at passing the second test don’t really go much better. Now that he knows there’s some purpose to the mass madness that seems to have overtaken the teachers, he tries his best. His pen taps on his teeth when he pauses and he tries to concentrate, scrawling words in answer to the printed questions, but even as he does that he can hear pages flipping.

Pen nibs scratching the page, someone coughing, _coughing_ \- sneeze to break the silence, and he looks up, looks down.

Looks up, looks around.

Again and again, in a cycle set to drive him mad as he realises that _they’re all probably ahead of him. They’re all probably getting the answers down faster than he is, solving them right, solving them **right-**_

And that’s always been his problem, hasn’t it? He can’t seem to do anything right.

He fails that test too, but only because his thoughts build up like ten tonne weights in his brain, pushing his head to the desk till he can’t see the questions. Only black caterpillar blurs where there should’ve been letters, and even then he’s only sure that’s because he was three feet from crying.


	6. White Noise and Other Emotions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't touch me.

When he is older and trying to learn maths, there sits a girl in the row behind him. Now, Luffy doesn’t really _not_ get along with anyone. Not unless they’re mean, and she doesn’t even talk to him, so he truthfully has no opinion on her.

Not until later, that is.

Not until she complains of not knowing what the teacher’s on about, when she has problems understanding it, and is just too lazy to try. Not until she moans and complains and talks back and blames him for her faults and he feels-

He feels-

Hands clench around his pen as the oil curls in his ears, slime liquefied into a gaseous state, and he can feel his inhales holding, like he’s trying to tame back his rage by not breathing. His throat feels clogged, and Luffy can’t even hear what they’re saying anymore. “Shut up-,”

The words wing free of his mouth before he’s even realising he’s said them, and once the first word escapes, the rest follow, a game of _catch me if you can_ that only makes his anger grow.

“Shut up!” His palms slam the table, chair smashing into the desk behind him, and he turns, gaze narrowed in a glare to see the shock on her face. “Why do you expect everything to be so simple? Why do you expect everything to be handed to you on a silver platter?”

Wide, wide eyes, but he’s not stopping now. Not now that he’s started, not now that he can see her freeze in the face of his offense.

“It’s not his fault that you’re not trying hard enough to understand, and it’s not his fault that you can’t even apply yourself a little bit!” His chest heaves, the air he stopped before pulling like the tide in his chest and making everything in his body move with it, “What gives you the right to call someone an idiot when you don’t even try?! Don’t shame someone for their work when you can’t even be bothered enough to do your own!”

“I’m three times dumber than you’ll ever be, but I know as soon as I understand this I’m gonna get higher marks than you ever will because I’m _trying!_ ” His stomach is a whiplash of sick feelings, and his bones feel like they’re humming; buzzing and snapping and popping like fire and _anger_ is in every vein of his body.

His hands are curled into fists, ready to lash out and _hurt_ , but even as he tries to rip them apart with his words instead, he can’t stay in there any longer.

_Can’t, can’t, CAN’T-!_

The door slams shut behind him, a cannon bang in the silence that follows after his outburst, and he throws himself at the metal bag racks. The impact in his stomach drives the breath from him, and he grips the wire, fingers biting back as the metal tries to leave its mark.

Taut pressure in his limbs makes him push away again, and he moves, knowing that if he stops, the buzz in his skin will only get worse. It’s like his body is a rubber band, stretched to breaking point and held, and he’s waiting to snap, waiting for his flesh to settle back over his bones instead of holding rigid and strained. His arms are swinging in rough movements, and the only reason he hasn’t punched anything is because he’s caused enough trouble; _caused enough trouble here, he can’t get in any more._

Doesn’t want to be seen as uncontrollable, even when he can’t tape down and clasp the fury that froths and bubbles in his blood. His knees collapsed beneath him, dropping him down onto the cold cement in the corner, and there are still bumblebee wings buzzing in his head but for now he holds them in with his scarred hands alone, curling in on himself and letting his blunt nails scrape pink paths across the flesh of his arms and his legs.

A light click follows him through the maze his mind is building to distance himself from his anger, and he stops pulling at his skin, instead trying bite through it, _no sound, no sound,_ holding his body still.

 _Stay still_ , _stay silent,_ that’s the rule, _stay still, stay silent, and they’ll go away_.

_If you look like you’re fine, they won’t touch you._

A cold weight rested on his shoulder, and the _wrong_ came back, a tidal wave that swept him off his feet, and the back lash made him move.

“ _Don’t touch me!_ ” He shouted, desperate; pained – a cacophony of white noise filling his head and clinging to his thoughts, _buzz buzz buzz_ , clogging his mind and making him react on instinct.

Movement is what he registers first; throwing out his arm to get them _off,_ and he only just reins it all back in, taming down the fire that makes him lash out.

Vivi pulls away from him, shocked and hurt at the fist that grazed her cheek, and Luffy-

He caves in on himself like a collapsing bridge, strong until the moment when it all seemed to matter.

“ _Don’t,_ ” he pleaded again, pinching his nails on his skin in dragging falters to try and pull out his nerves and make it _stop,_ but now the words are there again and they won’t halt their march. “Don’t-,”

Vivi’s hands are cool on his own, tugging them persistently away from his legs, and she brings him forwards till he can lean against her shoulder, letting him heave dry breaths; the only escape he’ll let himself have, when the tears are something that no-one should ever see but the mirror.

“ _Sorry-,_ ”He mumbles out between hiccups, letting those words join the ones that escaped him before, “ _Sorry-I didn’t-,_ ”and Vivi just strokes his back, letting him dig his nails into her shoulder blades and murmuring quiet nonsense in his ear.

_Sorry._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any mistakes noted, please feel free to inform me.
> 
> Also shout-out to the lovely Mortis and the Anon who left me kudos! <3 Thank you very much!


	7. Phone Calls and How They Set You Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How a friend is a friend even when their father knows what you don’t.

Vivi stays, for a while, but even after she leaves clicks on keyboards and laughter down telephone wires are commonplace.

Luffy finds he quite likes typing. It’s slow, certainly, but every word can be double-checked and there’s no problem with his awful writing if he types. It’s easy, to type.

He types out invitations, when he turns sixteen, and makes sure Vivi gets hers super _super_ early so she can come, and even when her father ends up getting them lost on the way to his place, she still gets there in time for cake. And cake’s the best bit after presents, so she didn’t miss much.

When there are cold cans of soda passed into every hand and the hours leave them for yesterday, Vivi’s father comes by to pick her up. He chats with everyone, even Luffy, but there’s still;

“You have Asperger’s, right?”

“Wh-?” He asks, a question that stays poised on his lips, that he’s not sure he should ask but wants to anyway.

Vivi’s dad’s face furrows, like he’s confused but not really at the same time, and Luffy feels his toes curl into the marble floors. “Asperger’s. Vivi has it as well, and so does Zoro, I believe.”

“How do you-,” Luffy started, with a feeling akin to panic in his head,

“When you answered the phone?” He laughs, an amused thing at the confusion brought tight into Luffy’s brow, “It’s a bit difficult to explain, but there are certain traits that just happen. Like when you answered the phone.” Vivi’s dad pauses, looking like his explanation is stuck, and offers a smile and a sigh. “I’m sorry, I’m not explaining this very well.”

“Huh?” Luffy pulls himself from his thoughts and grins, fastening the word away in his head. “Naw old man, I get it.”

_Asperger’s._


	8. Getting Out (To Fast)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> at least they work.

His word were always early, his gramps mentions one day, when the sun sets and the fireworks burst in the sky, lighting up the night in reds and greens.

_Maybe,_ Luffy thinks, when he wonders about that, _they don’t come out right_ , _because they_ _came out to early_. Words were not an unsurmountable forte when he could talk to Robin, or Usopp, who both wielded legends and tales in smooth breaths, but he thinks that it’s not too bad, if he thinks of it as they coming a little early and not fixing themselves up the right way in the first place.


	9. How to Accept Hugs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s getting better.

Touch goes first.

He makes it.

Whenever he feels like pulling away, he curls in, bites down the urge to swallow, starts the movements first.

And, after a while, it’s not that hard. His fingers flutter down arms, his elbows hook around shoulders, his nose rests in the crook of necks, and his grins rest against hands when he’s silly.

It’s like he’s a book, one in which his friends seem to be becoming fluent in, but he can’t ague them that, when it’s almost as though every chapter they find seems to carry new rules for them to follow.

Touch becomes a part of his life that had never existed before, resting in the empty slots of time when he used to hold himself back, for fear of his mind betraying him, and now it _works_ , ticks through gears like a steamwork creature, helping instead of hindering.

 _He’s making it better,_ even though it’s hard, _it’s getting better,_ and that’s all he can ask.

He’s getting better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost done now. :3 Just one left (and it's cute. ^u^)
> 
> Thank you, thank you thank you to FreckledBastard, 12Freddofrogs, Insomniacticwriter, Lolle, and the Anons who left me kudos and amazing tags on tumblr. :3 I really appreciate every single one! ^n^


	10. Values (And What They Mean to You)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they are not perfect, but this will work for him.

Nami helps him with clocks, patient to the point of exasperation and beyond, and when the number start making sense, she doesn’t leave, letting the scratch of pencil occupy their time together, and sometimes he gets things before her and they start helping each other and it _works_ , which is what he wanted in the first place.

Usopp teaches him words, letting stories flow between them and helping him get his thoughts to the page, a buffer to let the pen understand what he wants to say, and Robin comes round to help with essays too, with fancy words that are fun to let roll off his tongue and see their looks of surprise. He learns new ones too, when they’re not there, and sometimes it’s a game; play compare, see which ones you know and which ones you don’t.

Zoro drops by every afternoon with a soccer ball, or a baseball bat, or sometimes just with running shoes and he does that in the morning as well; driving all the electricity from under his feet into productivity so that when he actually gets to school, he’s just a little more able to concentrate. And sometimes Zoro doesn’t come round with sports, and just shows up with games to distract him from stressing out, and that’s nice; letting yelps and laughter as their pixels jump across the screen fall between the easy silences and close skin.

Franky teaches him to use his hands; how to hold broken things still and straight and put them all back together so they are delicate workings once more. Franky builds him things, shows him rings that he can twist around his palms that move instead of biting into his skin when he doesn’t know what to do with his fingers, and proves to him that messy work isn’t a problem as long as you can read it.

Brook shows him how to dance like everyone is watching, how to dance like there is no-one in the world but the people you want to see, and it’s not that Luffy _likes_ dancing without someone, but when he’s with Brook and the others, when music is something that flows from Brook’s heart straight to his violin, Luffy will dance. Brook shows him, in his own way, that staying close and staying far isn’t necessarily a bad thing, and nor does it mean that he is not loved ( _that he cannot_ _love, because he can if he wants to, it is just not something that he chooses to do with words_ ).

Their little doctor in training teaches him patience, like it is a value that Luffy does not already know he needs in greater quantities, but while he does that Chopper shows him everything that everyone already loves him for instead of the things he wants to rip from his mind. Chopper shows him that he is already wonderful enough to be treasured.

Sanji _tries_ to show him how to cook, and Luffy responds quite happily because _meat!_ He can learn how to cook _meat!_ But he ends up not being so good in the kitchen (he may’ve eaten a bit more than his fair share of the fruit and the cake batter,) so Sanji tries to teach him table manners instead.

That ends with a _goddamnit Luffy!_ So Luffy teaches Sanji to dance and climb trees and Sanji makes picnics and they all spend summer in the sun with grass stains on their knees.

Luffy thinks that maybe he found some friends that aren’t bubbles; maybe the first ones he had might not’ve been friends, but something infinitely more fragile to the younger him, with his made-for-breaking hands.

Bubbles go _pop_ eventually, but these friends aren’t bubbles, and they’re close enough so he’ll hurt them too, if they leave.

So maybe they won’t.

_Maybe they won’t._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I'm all done! Hope you enjoyed reading. I certainly enjoyed writing this. ^u^
> 
> Shout to the anon who left me my first ever kudo, Mortis for the first signed one, and for all the rest who just made my day that much more wonderful. :3
> 
> The next story I am planning is going to be much longer and more structured than this one. It will, however, take me a fair while to write as the plan currently sits at around a planned 11 chapters, (which is something like 7 pages in word, not including the things I already have written) and considering the larger word content, may take me a while to post. It is titled 'Ashes to Ashes', if that gives you any indication of what it will be about! xD
> 
> I do, as well, have other shorter stories that I may edit and post later so I don't forget about this account. The current one has a working title of 'The Prince' or 'Alternatively titled; SANJI THE SILLY MR. PRINCE GUY FOR FREDDO'.
> 
> Anyway, thank you for sticking through with me! I hope you all have a wonderful day, and good luck with your endeavours. ^~^

**Author's Note:**

> .


End file.
